Thoughts And Prayers

Small furry animals have crawled out of their holes for a look. Such sights! Smashed-in skulls and severed feet and angels covered in blood. Like a nasty drunk, God has been exceptionally belligerent of late. A cadaverous woman in blue scrubs who says her name is April asks, “On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being the lowest, how severe is your pain?” Strangers on social media offer thoughts and prayers. Even then, the leaves on trees instantly wither as a burning airship passes overhead. My wife refuses a ride. We cling together just like the words in a poem.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of Failed Haiku, a poetry collection that is the co-winner of the 2021 Grey Book Press Chapbook Contest. It is scheduled for publication in summer 2022.

Five-Minute Rule

An apple drops onto the produce floor and bounces twice before rolling under the corn stack. You’d hoped to walk away, but three ladies saw it happen and are giving you an accusatory look. So you pick up the fruit and carry it to the baked goods section.

Five minutes later, you return the dropped apple and turn it inwards to hide the bruised spot and wet corn silk.

You grin with satisfaction and think of the poor sucker who doesn’t check his fruit before purchase.

At home, later that day, you unbag your peaches and notice they are mushy.

From Guest Contributor Jennifer Lai

Haunting

Molly opened the door to her new antique shop and breathed in the freshly painted room. She sold everything from refurbished wood furniture, candles and lotions among other products. Family and friends begged her not to buy the building that was a torture chamber in the early 1800s. Rumor had it that past owners heard screams and footsteps, but she didn’t believe it.

One year later, Molly foreclosed. Customers were too frightened of the rumors.

On her last day, Molly locked the door for the final time. When she turned for one last look, a figure waved from the window.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Listening To Punchdrunk Lovesick Singalong On Repeat

David waited at the red light. He scratched at his scalp as the skin peeled away.

Diane wrapped the glassware in last Sunday's edition of the Times. She remembered having to nag David for months before he wrote those thank you notes.

David cursed so that the driver next to him turned and offered a look. He stared straight ahead and debated offering an apology.

Diane loaded the last of the boxes into the trailer. Her father offered a hug that she refused.

David pulled into the driveway, turned off the ignition, and cried.

Diane watched the landscape blur by.

This is post number 1,111. Thank you to every one who has read one of these stories or contributed one of their own.